Morndas, 25th of Last Seed, 4E 201Mature

“Last night was outstanding. That is all I am writing down on that subject.”

“Although I could leave Falkreath without Valga ever seeing the ten septims I had promised her, I decided it would be best for everybody if I just found some way to pay my debt. Fortunately, the inn had a small table with basic potion-craft tools. Now I am no herbalist, but one must know how to come through tight situations with what one has at his disposal; that is how I was able to heal myself during the war, when all I had to clean my wounds and restore my punctured guts was the flora from the battlefield…”

“I spent the whole morning picking viable ingredients within Falkreath’s walls. While most proved incompatible, the mixture of mountain flowers with thistle produced a handful of poison bottles. This specific poison slows down the renewal of magicka in an individual. It lasts for about five hours and is quite popular among conniving apprentices of wizardry. Altogether, the bottles were sold at “Grave Concoctions” for about 70 septims – more than enough to pay Valga, buy myself a decent lunch and leave a tip to the… talented waiter. Maybe I shouldn’t have promised not to touch that topic after all.”

“Not long after I had finished my meal, an old man by the name of Dengeir approached me concerning a little job: steal a letter for him. I was not too happy with the idea, but once he told me of how the Imperials had put him aside from the Jarl position unjustly, I decided to help him. The theft was child’s play; so busy was Lod at his forge that he did not notice a thing. Old Dengeir seemed disappointed with the letter’s content, but was generous enough to reward me for the trouble, and what a reward too! He handed me a satchel with enough gold to buy an enchanted weapon!”

The End

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